It is 1:00
p.m., July 23, 1974, in the Pamir Mountains, U.S.S.R.. I am distressed. A rapidly
deteriorating avalanche condition has been developing on the steep slope above our 17,350
ft Crevasse Camp.

Crevasse Camp is located
high in the accumulation area of the Krylenko Glacier. The camp is two-thirds of the way
up a glacial slope which is north-facing, 6,000 ft high, and of nearly uniform steepness.
No respite from this steepness is to be found, save for one large suspicious crevasse. A
six man contingent of the of the American Pamir Expedition is camped in that crevasse.
Above is the Krylenko Pass, 20,206 ft, a gap high on the long northeast shoulder of Pik
Lenin. We must climb to Krylenko Pass and cross it, for we have aspirations of first
ascents beyond the Pass.

On the morning of July
22, our group has ascended the steep slope above Crevasse Camp and reached the Pass. It
was heavy going through knee-deep snow. How unusual, I thought, for my feet were becoming
so cold, so early in the game. It was not that the air temperature was so cold, it was
that the snow was unusually cold. Inspecting this snow closely, I found the grain size to
be small and the grains or crystals to be very loose. These loose grains or crystals gave
the upper two feet of the snowpack a very low density, the immediate practical result
being that it was difficult to set a good step. As to avalanche potential, I didn't take
these conditions to be a sign of instability.

We spent the day
south of the Pass, on the Greater Saukdara Glacier, observing the East Face of Pik Lenin.
It was a warm day with strong incoming radiation energy; the snow surface became wet and
we suffered in the hot, stifling air on the glacier. At about 6:00 p.m., we began our
descent from the Pass, heading back home to Crevasse Camp. Fred and I immediately realized
that the condition of the slope above Crevasse Camp had changed radically since morning. A
slab had developed. We were no longer wading through deep snow as we had during the
morning ascent. We were now on a fairly stiff surface, sinking in only about six inches.
The surface had a slight ice glaze and was damp two inches down. I was alarmed, so I dug a
quick snow pit in order to see what had happened to the cold loose snow I remembered so
well from the morning.

The slab was two feet thick and consisted of fine grain,
old snow of medium density or hardness. I was able to reach to the underside of the slab
and move my palms back and forth as though feeling the underside of a table! A slight icy
crust firmed up the underside of the slab. The snow underneath this crust had undergone
temperature gradient metamorphism and was the beginning stage of depth hoar (unstable,
sugar-like snow) with moderate cohesion. The depth hoar was six inches deep and rested on
an icy layer. To verify these findings we dug five snow pits. Each pit revealed the same
situation.

There was no doubt that a potential avalanche condition had developed.
And, by all known standards, it developed impossibly fast. We had, however,descended on the slab, indicating clearly that the slab had not yet
reached a critical state. It appeared to me that the ameliorating factor was the absence
of any increased weight in the form of new precipitation. The weather had been good; we
hoped that it would continue to be so. We thought we were still ahead of the problem. I
wanted to observe the situation by digging more snow pits on the following day. Fred
wanted to go down. The others were divided. Descent and evacuation from Crevasse Camp was
considered with reluctance. Probably without being fully aware of it, some of us may have
thought: Howcan we turn back, after coming all of this way-to Russia,
especially with the English climbers already over the Pass, at the base of the East Face
of Lenin.

That evening, the altimeter began to rise; that is, the atmospheric
pressure began to fall. We shouldn't have been surprised because we all saw the mare's
tails streaming up from the southwest when we were on the south side of the Pass earlier
in the day. At about 2:00 a.m., Bruce woke me up and said it was snowing. I stuck my hand
out the tent door and wiggled my finger around. One inch of new snow, very light density, "Six
inches of new snow would send us down to a lower and safer camp, "I said. Bruce said, "Are you sure?" Back to sleep... ZZZZZZZZZZ.

Early morning,
July 23. Two inches of new snow, very light density. It was clear, but the barometer was
still low. Blowing snow from a good 25 m.p.h. northeast wind. Could the wind be
transporting enough new snow to bring the slab to a critical state? Then the wind abated
and it became warm as in previous days. Are we being lulled into ignoring what is really
happening around us?

By mid-morning, another American contingent arrived at Crevasse Camp. This
was the five-person crew headed for the mountain Pik 6852, another hoped-for first ascent
beyond Krylenko. We told them of the avalanche situation. They solemnly accepted this
unwelcome news and set to moving camp, nevertheless. A Japanese party arrived with the
intention of climbing to the Pass. We advised them to turn back because of the avalanche
danger and they wisely did so. Finally, a minor crisis prompted action out of the East
Face Pik Lenin crew. One of our stoves broke. Bruce, Allen, Fred, and John headed down to
Base Camp to get the stove fixed, and to bring up more supplies. Jeff and I would stay,work with Jock's Pik6852 group, and continue to assess the
avalanche danger.

Now clouds are floating around and it is uncomfortably warm. Our boys left
about half an hour ago on the stove repairing mission. Vague
worry. I am watching my altimeter-barometer
and the pressure is dropping rapidly. More clouds. I pace around. Mike, Jock, and Jeff are
debating whether to move one of the tents so as to place it in a safer position should an
avalanche occur. Mike wants to move it into the partly filled-in crevasse rather than
leave it on the crevasse lip where the other tent is located. That would entail some
considerable digging and leveling. We have to consider that kind of action carefully. A
tent for Jeff and myself was already erected on the lip of the crevasse. It seemed it was
going to stay right there.

Jock's crew tent
is halfway erected. Mike is still protesting. By now, all of us are standing on the lip of
the crevasse: Jeff, Jock, Jed, Molly, Chris and I. The clouds suddenly envelop us, and it
gets noticeably warmer, then begins to snow. I am standing and staring at my altimeter; it
rises 50 ft indicating a sudden drop in air pressure. More intense worry. The boys down
below.. ? Jeff is saying in response to Mike, "Well, I am a fatalist..."
Suddenly the crevasse shifts; shifts a whole lot: In fact, the whole mountain side seemed
to vibrate! We silently look at each other. Impending.. .what? It is almost 1:30 p.m.

I really don't
remember if it was the sound of the avalanche that warned us, but it must have been,
because the upper overhanging lip of the big crevasse some 40 ft. overhead blocked our
vision of the awful slope directly above. Most of us had never heard an avalanche so close
before, and I certainly hadn't heard one from this position. But we all sensed instantly
that the avalanche was coming. We had maybe 15 seconds from the time of the crevasse
shift; we reacted in the last few seconds. I was eight feet from the crevasse-Iran and
jumped in. Jeff was near me, doing the same. The drop into the crevasse was about 15 ft
into the soft snow, and as I landed, I looked up to the high upper lip and saw,
distinctly, a solid wall of snow shooting out, going incredibly fast, blocking out the sky
in the darkness and roar.

Cold snow came in
on me, burying me in the hole as I tried desperately to claw my way back out with

bare hands, utterly without success. It
went seemingly on and on, perhaps a full minute then stopped.

Spindrift from the
avalanche is settling now, and it is snowing as well. I am buried to my knees. Jeff's
calling from a few feet away asking if I'm still there. Yes. Jeff is buried up to his
waist; I dig frantically. Jeff and I don't know yet . . . we may be the only ones left
alive. What despair.

They are all
there! Jock and Mike and Jed and Molly and Chris. Jock didn't get buried; he's dusting
himself off with a characteristic air of "what is this nonsense here?" Jed was
eating a dried apricot at the time; claims to have chewed it thoroughly while the
avalanche passed by. Chris is shaken; so am I. He asks, "Is this bad?" "Yes,
" I say, and think... our friends down below. The avalanche was so huge, at least 200
yards wide where we are, as far as we can make out... just doesn't seem feasible that they
could have been far enough down and out of the way. We yell into the driving snow. No
answer.

There was no sign
of Jeff's and my tent. Jock's crew's tents had been completely flattened, damaged but
recoverable. Guess that settled that argument. Jeff and I lost our packs and all of our
gear, sleeping bags, parkas, most everything. The others lost equipment too, but not so
much.

Driving snow and cold now. Avalanches roar in the mist. There is no good
reason to stay here; it is becoming only more dangerous by the moment. Without crampons,
some without axes and others using shovels as a substitute, each in turn fades with
weariness and misery as we make our waydown. For a long time our survival
is in question.

Oh, the debris, acres and acres of debris: large heavy, damp lookIng boulder-shaped heaps of snow They could never have survived
this. There is no way.

We reach the base
of the face where we had left a cache on the ascent. Jed, on the lookout, insists that the
cache is gone, but his words fall on deaf ears. Jed says that they, John, Allen, and
Bruce, must have picked it up on their way down. No reaction.

Krylenko moraine
camp. THERE THEY ARE! Relief upon relief. Yes, the avalanche hit them. But they were
almost to the bottom of the big slope, in a low angle area, on the edge of the final
run-out of the avalanche.

How could the boys have descended
3,000 ft. so quickly? The snow had been so deep and soft. They slid. They put on their
nylon wind suits and slid. Fortunately so. Then the roar and wall of snow came out of the
mist, but when it reached them, its force was dissipated. The avalanche scooped up the
climbers and carried them 200 ft. Allen was buried up to his neck, the crushing weight of
the snow bruising some of his ribs. The others came to rest on top of the debris.

It was so close, so very close. Just within
inches, nearly 11 of us came that close to being killed. I flashed back to the scene at
Crevasse Camp just seconds after dust had settled, when I was thinking real hard, just
like a little kid, "Oh please, if we are all safe, I promise to do this,
and this and this... "

The next day,
bedraggled and very glad to be alive, we arrived back at Base Camp. We were told that at
approximately 1:30 p.m., on the previous day, a tremendous earthquake occurred. The
epicenter of this earthquake was about 100 miles south of Pik Lenin and Krylenko Pass.
Some expedition members familiar with earthquake strength along the west coast of North
America said the strength of this earthquake was five to five and a half on the Richter
Scale. The violent shift of the glacier that we felt was the earthquake, although we
didn't realize that at the time.

The Krylenko
avalanche appeared to be the release of a damp slab on a temperature gradient layer, set
in motion by the exceptionally heavy trigger of an earthquake.